The Great Dish War of 2011
by OwlinAMinor
Summary: Italy made dinner, so Germany should do the dishes. But Italy made a mess in the kitchen, so Italy should clean up. Thus begins the Great Dish War of 2011.  Oneshot.  GerIta.


**THE GREAT DISH WAR OF 2011**

**RATING: T**

**PAIRING: GerIta**

**GENRE: Humor & Romance**

**DESCRIPTION: Italy made dinner, so Germany should do the dishes. But Italy made a mess in the kitchen, so Italy should clean up. Thus begins the Great Dish War of 2011.**

**LENGTH: Oneshot**

**POV: Germany**

**INSPIRATION: One of my dad's stories; it's very similar to this fanfic, only it's about closing a window, not doing dishes. (It's a hilarious story, and if you want to hear it, review or PM me and ask me about it. :D)**

**ROSES ARE RED, VIOLETS ARE BLUE, DISCLAIMERS SUCK, AND THEY HATE US, TOO: I don't own Hetalia or its characters. BUT I OWN THOMAS. I WILL ALWAYS OWN THOMAS. (Thomas is my fedora. I love him dearly.)**

* * *

><p>"Italy!"<p>

"What is it~"

"Come here!"

"Do I _have_ to? I'm in the middle of a drawing~"

"Yes, you do have to."

"But I don't _want_ to~"

"Well, if you don't come, you won't get any dinner tomorrow!"

"Coming~"

As the Italian plodded into our kitchen, his bare feet slapping the tile floor, I pointed at the small mound of dishes piled haphazardly in the sink. "_What_ is _this_?"

"Um, dishes~"

"Yes, I can see that," I replied in exasperation, "but why aren't they _washed_?"

"Well ... I ... um ..."

"Forgot," I finished for him. This conversation was a daily occurrence, and the two of us had our lines completely memorized. He would apologize for forgetting, I would threaten him with no food or doubled training or loss of pasta, and he would sullenly do the dishes.

"Actually, no," the Italian said slowly, a glowing soft of look coming to his face that told me he had just had what he considered a wonderful idea. Italy's last "wonderful idea" had ended with him in a Russian sewer and me in a Chinese prison, so I wasn't particularly looking forward to this one.

"I figured that, since I made dinner, you should do the dishes! Right, Germany~" The dumpkoff clapped his hands, grinning jubilantly at the thought of pushing his chore onto me.

I gasped, horrified. How could he even _think_ such a thing?

Well, he _was_ Italy. Anything was possible in his insanely tiny pasta-filled brain.

"No, Italy," I explained patiently. "Since you made dinner (and the mess in the kitchen), you should wash the dishes. I'm not going to clean up your mess for you."

He crossed his arms across his bare chest (why did he always insist on roaming the house half-naked?) and pouted cutely - I mean, adorably - AGH! - I mean, he pouted in an ... Italy ... ish ... way. Yeah. That.

"I still say you should do it."

I crossed my own arms. "Well, I still say you should do it."

"You should do it."

"No, you should do it."

"No, you should do it!"

"No, you should do it!"

"No, you!"

"No, you!"

"No, you!"

"No, you!"

"YOU!"

"YOU!"

We went on like this for a few minutes, neither willing to give in to the other. Italy, though a complete sitzplinker on the battlefield, was actually quite determined when it came to getting out of housework, something I knew all too well. As for me, I was sick and tired of always giving in to Italy because he was cute - I mean, helpless and stupid.

Finally, after yelling our throats hoarse, we decided that neither of us would do the dishes, and we left them in the sink.

That night, for the first time since I became friends with Italy, we parted without a "Gute Nacht" or a "Buonanotte~"

* * *

><p>For the next couple of weeks, dirty dishes continued to pile up … and pile up … and pile up …<p>

Yes, Italy and I would rather buy a new set of dishes every day than back down and start washing them.

What?

As my Vati always said, "A man's ego must be at least twice the size of his body."

So, really, what the pasta-obsessed freak and I competed in was an ego war of obsenely large proportions, a contest of laziness, a fail so epic it must have been a win.

It made my ego double in size just thinking about it.

But, at the same time, though I would never really admit it … I missed my Italy.

You see, when you're engaged in the epitome of ego wars with somebody, it's incredibly difficult to carry out a normal conversation with him … or train with him … or eat with him … or let him sleep in your room … or let him cuddle up with you … or do anything besides have hallway sex, really.

**(A/N: Just ****a little piece of info included so that any readers won't think I made Germany and Italy total perverts: hallway sex is when two people pass each other in the hallway, glare at each other, and say, "Screw you!" to each other.)**

_But that doesn't matter_, I reminded myself whenever I started feeling lonely. _Nothing matters except victory._

* * *

><p>"Hungary, ciao! I didn't realize you were coming over for dinner~"<p>

I could hear the dumpkoff from up in my study like he was in the room with me even though he was standing at the front door. And before you start thinking we stopped fighting, I'll tell you this: you're wrong. Just because Italy was sullen and angry around me, that didn't mean he wasn't his usual adorable – I mean, idiotic – self around anyone else.

"Ja," I could hear Hungary exclaiming. "Austria's out on a business trip, so Prussia invited me over here to eat with you guys! Besides, I really want to try that new pasta you invented, Italy. Spain said you made it for him and Romano, and it was delicious."

"Really? He said that? I'll have to thank him the next time I see him! Maybe make some more of it for him, ve ~"

"So, is dinner ready, or what? The Awesome Me is really hungry," my annoying brother interrupted. "By the way, where's West? I'm surprised he isn't down here to pay homange to my awesomeness by now."

"Oh, Germany probably won't join us," Italy explained. Was it just me, or did he sound just a little bit sad? "He and I usually eat seperately these days."

"Bullshit! The Awesome Me came here to make fun of his kid brother, and that's what the Awesome Me is going to do."

"But, Prussia ~"

"WEEEEEESSSSST! FREE BEEEEEEERRRR!"

I charged out of my study and raced down the stiars, making more noise than a herd of stampeding buffalo. Gott, it had been _so long_ since I had a beer … well, I had had one with lunch … but that had been an entire six hours ago! Soon, I was standing in the front hall, panting like a dog and gasping, "Where?"

Prussia, irritating as ever, grinned and winked at Hungary. "Told you that'd work."

She rolled her eyes and muttered something about owing him five euros.

We headed into the kitchen, where the house-wife-y country stopped and stared at the sink like it was a bomb about to demolish the world.

"What. Is. _That_?"

"Oh, well, me and Germany ~" Italy began.

"Germany and I," I automatically corrected him.

"Germany _and I_ couldn't decide who should do the dishes, so we just … well … left them in the sink, ve ~"

_Oh, scheisse._

Hungary was getting that infamous fiery glint in her eyes. That couldn't meant one of three things: either a) she would go on a murderous ramage, b) she would start screeching at somebody, or c) she would begin babbling about Austria's vital regions in an extremely creepy manner.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST TAKE TURNS WASHING THEM? OR ONE OF YOU WASH AND THE OTHER ONE RINSE? OR EACH OF YOU DO HALF? FOR GOD'S SAKE, WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST _COMPROMISE_? OH, I KNOW WHY! YOUR STUPID MALE EGOS WOULDN'T _LET_ YOU! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU GUYS; I SERIOUSLY CAN'T. YOU'RE SUCH EGOTISTIC _BASTARDS_, SUCH EXASPERATING _IDIOTAK_, SUCH STUBBORN _OSZVER_, SUCH … SUCH … SUCH _MEN_!"

Well, it looks like it was the second one.

Hungary stood in the center of our kitchen, her fists clenched, her entire body shaking, and her face bright Romano-red. The way she looked right then, you could almost see who she used to be – an aggressive, powerful young nation who defeated all potential invaders with her fast fists, excellent swordsmanship, and quick wit. Then, she gave herself a particularly violent shake, apologized, and smiled weakly, and the fiery glint in her emerald eyes was competely disintegrated. She had returned to the apron-wearing, broom-wielding Hungary of today.

In true housewife-esque fasion, she stepped over to the sink, grabbed a towel and some soap, and commenced scrubbing dishes with inhuman speed. Prussia didn't move or speak – he was laughing uproarously, though I'm still not sure what was funny about it. I didn't move or speak – I was too busy trying to decide whether to kill or kiss Hungary for bringing Italy's and my ego war to an abrubt end. Italy didn't move or speak – he was probably adjusting to the idea of our actually having clean dishes. (Italy takes an exceedingly long time to adjust to new situations – when he first moved into my house, it was weeks before he stopped screaming that he wasn't in his bed and it was scary every single morning.)

For nearly an hour, there was awkward silence except for the sounds of scrubbing and running water as Hungary cleans Italy's and my dirty dishes. I should've said something to break the silence, but I didn't think there was anything I could do or say that wouldn't make it more awkward. Luckily (or perhaps unluckily,) my brother said something before Italy or I could.

"Hey, did you guys know that West watches Italian porn?"

"Oh, you _aren't_ gay, then, Germany? Funny, I always thought …"

"Really? Which one is your favorite, Germany ~ I like Maria the best; she's so cute ~"

"WHAT THE – PRUSSIA, YOU – I CAN'T BELIEVE – HOW DID YOU –"

"Oh, it was simple, bruder," Prussia said, grinning wickedly. "It was in your internet history when The Awesome Me borrowed your laptop last week. For such a smart strategist, you really suck at hiding what you don't want other people to know abou–"

And that was when I stopped spluttering and started punching my idiot brother in the head.

We never did end up eating any dinner that night.

* * *

><p>"Germany ~"<p>

"Ja, Italy? What is it?"

I wondered if he could tell how happy I was behind my annoying tone. It seemed like it had been years since Italy last woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me something stupid. I supposed that I hadn't really realized how much I missed it – his nervous little voice, his anxious, tear-stained face, the way he would fall asleep in my bed afterward – until then.

Suddenly, the Italian was on top of me, sobbing into my shoulders, his arms holding my neck in a vice-like grip.

"Germany, I'm so sorry ~" he wailed. "I can't believe we got into an argument over such a stupid thing! And it's all my fault! Hungary was right; my ego is too big. I'm such a horrible person, I'm so sorry, so sorry ~"

"It's okay, Italy," I murmured comfortingly, rubbing his back the way I did when he came into my room after he had a nightmare. "It's okay. It's my fault, too, and I'm sorry, too."

"Germanyyyyyy ~ I'm sorry, will you forgive me? Oh, you're never going to forgive me and we won't be friends any more and it'll be so sad and lonely and horrible and ~"

"It's okay, Italy. I forgive you."

"R – really?" I couldn't see Italy's face in the dark, but I imagine his huge, golden eyes were filled with tears.

"Of course."

Then, Italy's voice became really quite and a bit hoarse … almost sexy. "Do … do you want me to make it up to you?"

"Make it up to – MMPH!"

His lips were on mine, his arms were around my neck, his hands were in my hair – _oh, mein Gott, when did Italy even learn how to do this so well_ – _when did I start wanting it to happen_ – my shirt was somehow gone, my pants were swiftly following, I was yanking on his curl but he wasn't even complaining – he was just kissing me harder – it was amazing – even more amazing than beer, or wurst, or porn – I didn't want him to stop –

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE AWESOME ME IS GOING ON HERE?"

The lights came on. Blinded, I sprang away from Italy, but he just clutched me more tightly and we crashed to the floor. I looked up to find …

_Scheisse._

I had completely forgotten.

I had put Prussia in my closet after I knocked him out.

"What the … West, you and Italy … huh, so you really _are_ gay … Hungary was right …"

And then, he was … applauding? Why on Earth was he applauding?

"Congratulations, bruder! I didn't think you had it in you!"

"_ARSCHLOCH!_"

"_STRONZO!_"

"YOU – GET – OUT – OF – MY – HOUSE – RIGHT – THIS – INSTANT – OR – I'LL –"

"YOU – CAN'T – INTERRUPT – ME – AND – GERMANY – LIKE – THAT – THAT'S – MEAN –"

I was so busy beating up my brother; I didn't even bother correcting Italy. Once the two of us deemed him sufficiently punished, we threw him outside. Or, more specifically, I threw him outside – the Italian gave Prussia's hindquarters an extra-hard whack with a spoon on their way out.

Muttering about scheissekerl Germans and Italians who refused to pay homage to his awesomeness or let him video-tape them deflower each other so that he could sell it to Hungary and/or France later, my brother left my house – hopefully forever.

Italy and I picked up where he had left off.

Well, not exactly.

This time, it was on the living room couch.

* * *

><p><strong>TRANSLATIONS:<strong>

**German:**

_**Dumpkoff **_**– idiot**

_**Scheisse**_**– shit**

_**Sitzplinker**_** –a man who sits to pee (a synonym for "idiot")**

_**Mein Gott **_**– my God**

_**Arschloch**_** – asshole**

_**Bruder**_** – brother**

_**G**__**ute Nacht**_** – good night**

_**Vati **_**– father**

_**Scheissekerl **_**– son of a bitch**

**Hungarian:**

_**Idiotak**_** – idiots**

_**Oszver**_** – mules**

**Italian:**

_**Stronzo **_**– asshole**

_**Buonanotte**_**– good night**

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><p><strong>OH MEIN GOTT THERE ARE SO MANY TRANSLATIONS FOR THIS FIC. ARGGGH.<strong>

**Anyway.**

**I should add that, for the record, Italy topped.**

**Reviews are loved! (And eaten. With tomatoes.)**


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